Jade Tears
by Tsarina Torment
Summary: Even the Espada of emptiness has to deal with emotions sometimes.


**Disclaimer: I don't own **_Bleach_**.**

Hollows weren't supposed to fall in love. Wait, scratch that. Hollows weren't supposed to be able to fall in love. And that was why Ulquiorra Cifer dismissed the part of his brain that said that his interest in a certain blue haired Espada was love as nonsense. He didn't know what it was – why he'd had to fight to keep his breath from hitching as he heard Grimmjow growl out for his Zanpakuto to Grind before reaching out and catching the hilt, securely holding it as the then one-armed arrancar tried to keep fighting despite the grievous wounds he had obtained – but there was no way it could be something as pathetically human as love.

Grimmjow hunted him down after his arm had been restored by the woman, something he didn't understand why he permitted – it would have been easy to slip away if he truly wanted to avoid the sexta – and what he said made Ulquiorra freeze, if only mentally.

"Why did you care?"

He didn't. He didn't care that the arrancar had been bleeding and barely able to stand. He'd stopped him because there was no need for him to release; their mission was over and they'd been ordered to retreat. Grimmjow laughed at him when he explained this, telling him that he was lying to himself. Ulquiorra protested, saying that that was a human thing to do. As the cuatra Espada he had no need to hide from the truth.

"Then why did you look sad?"

Ulquiorra mentally scoffed at his subordinate's wishful thinking, deducing that he'd finally cracked, despite that being Szayel's aspect, and walked off, pausing just long enough to throw one last statement at the other.

"You imagined it, trash."

This time he didn't let Grimmjow catch him, using his Sonido to retreat to the safety of his own chambers where no-one else dared enter (no other arrancar, anyway – Aizen-sama and his fellow ex-Shinigami had no qualms about invading his privacy). It didn't stop Grimmjow pounding on his door – he was marginally faster than Ulquiorra, meaning that he was aware that he was inside his chambers, even if Ulquiorra's head start had been just enough to see him there safely – which Ulquiorra dutifully ignored. He'd spent enough time talking to the trash today. He ignored the part of his brain that said he didn't like hearing Grimmjow saying the truth and slowly cracking away at his mask of emptiness.

Interestingly, their duties never again crossed paths. Ulquiorra was in charge of caring for the woman and he neither knew nor cared what Grimmjow was up to. The next time they met, he was confronting the lower ranked Espada for forcing the woman to heal the Shinigami he had already defeated. The fight they got into was short and ended in his loss as the small cube entered his Hollow hole. He couldn't conceal the look of shock on his face – why had he let the blue haired nuisance win? – as Grimmjow pulled at his uniform enough to expose it. Glancing back he was surprised at the look of regret that crossed the panther's face as he was trapped within the other dimension and forced to deal with the snivelling arrancar that had been sealed away before him. Unlike them, however, his reiatsu was strong enough to ensure his release within a few hours – ones that he used to try and work out why his chest seemed to hurt and why Grimmjow was so adamant that there was something more than duty that forced him to step in when the arrancar was so wounded.

He didn't like the conclusion he came to.

Somehow, his chest felt less empty than usual – something that was so wrong, especially as he was not just a Hollow, but the Espada with the aspect of death 'Emptiness'. He still would not call it love, but there was definitely some strong feeling directed towards the loud Espada of destruction. He begrudgingly accepted that there was some form of care involved as he remembered the strange protective instincts that had emerged upon seeing the panther so badly injured in the Living World. If this self-discovery wasn't enough, it appeared that not only had Grimmjow already realised this, but he reciprocated these feelings.

Noticing that that which kept him imprisoned was weakening, he pushed at the barriers with his reiatsu, resolving to find Grimmjow and talk with him at the nearest opportunity. These… feelings were both unhealthy and unnatural and needed to be stopped in both parties before they became too human and the two Espada lost their usefulness. It was a matter of survival and he begrudgingly admitted that he wanted to secure Grimmjow's survival as well as his own, for reasons he didn't understand (he still refused to accept that the mysterious feeling was love).

Reappearing in Las Noches, Ulquiorra quickly realised a flaw in his plan. Grimmjow's reiatsu was nowhere to be felt. The loud blue reiatsu that would not be ignored was gone. The unwanted feelings made his chest tighten and for the briefest moment he allowed worry to flit through his brain, before catching himself. This problem needed to be sorted now. Coming to the conclusion that he would not be able to locate Grimmjow through his reiatsu, he resorted to returning to the place where he had last seen him. The signs of their brief battle were still there, along with further destruction that indicated another battle had occurred since. Looking around, he soon spotted a flash of familiar blue and… something… inside him felt as if it had jumped up his throat. Trying and failing to push it down with pure willpower alone he approached it, quickly realising that his initial suspicions were correct.

Grimmjow was a mess. Three deep wounds marred his chest, with another gash in his left side that looked suspiciously like Nnoitra's Zanpakuto… he didn't put it past the quinta to try and finish off a weakened arrancar, and it appeared that that was what had transpired here. He knelt beside the prone form, reaching out to touch the gash on his cheek before quickly retracting his hand. It was weak, but he had clearly felt Grimmjow's reiatsu respond to the touch. Despite appearances, apparently the sexta was still alive, somehow. Ulquiorra put it down to the blue haired Espada's stubbornness.

A breath caught in Grimmjow's throat and his forehead furrowed slightly as if in a bad dream before his eyes struggled open. Obviously unaware of his surroundings, he muttered something that sounded like a curse directed at both Nnoitra and Kurosaki before his eyes snapped into focus.

"Ulquiorra."

His name came out more as a growl from the weakened Espada's throat.

"Grimmjow."

Ulquiorra was all too aware that it was the first time he had referred to him as something other than trash or sexta – a fact Grimmjow seemed to pick up on, despite his state.

"Don't tell me you were worried."

Ulquiorra surveyed him with his impassive mask still fixed firmly on his face. He had been worried, but the sexta did not need to know that. It was all immaterial now anyway – the sexta was alive.

"Aizen-sama would have been displeased if you were dead."

It was not a lie – their leader would have been displeased, particularly as Ulquiorra had already dispatched Kurosaki before Grimmjow and his pride had forced the woman to heal him so that he could fight him on fair grounds.

"Your eyes."

Grimmjow seemed to want to say more, but his breathing stalled. Ulquiorra forced his own breathing not to stutter in sympathy.

"They're the same."

The same as what? It took Ulquiorra a moment to realise Grimmjow was referring to his previous defeat at the hands of Kurosaki, when he had had only one arm and Ulquiorra had stepped in to prevent the release. Certainly the same feeling was gripping his chest as had then, only in greater proportions as the sexta was weaker. Maybe his eyes really were betraying him. He scowled internally. What a human thing to do.

Grimmjow's breathing caught again, but this time it stayed caught despite the panther's best efforts to force air in and out of his lungs again. Ulquiorra didn't think as he reached out, lifting the sexta's upper body slightly and waiting with baited breath for him to start breathing again. It took time, but soon it calmed. Once sure that Grimmjow was breathing properly again he allowed his own breathing to calm, noting in irritance that he had failed to prevent it stuttering this time. He didn't even realise that he was still supporting the other arrancar.

"I knew you cared."

Grimmjow was looking up at him, his eyes unreadable. Ulquiorra didn't know what to make of it – he could always read his subordinate but the ability seemed to have deserted him. His brain ordered his arms to drop Grimmjow, but his arms refused, instead holding him more securely and bringing him closer to his chest.

"I don't."

He meant to say it calmly. Detached. It came out awkward, the words catching in his throat, while his arms tightened their grip. A blue eyebrow raised sceptically. At that more words came tumbling out of Ulquiorra's mouth, unbidden and unstoppable despite his best efforts.

"I don't understand."

What were these feelings? Why would his body not obey his commands and let go of the weak Espada?

"My chest hurts."

It was as if something was trying to force its way out of it, just below and a little to the left of his Hollow hole – where his heart would be if he still had it.

"What's happening to me?"

There was a strange feeling in the corner of his eye, like something was gathering there as more and more pressure built. Suddenly the pressure lifted and he was left with something warm trickling down his cheek, following the marks that ran down his face. The hand that wasn't supporting Grimmjow came up to touch the strange thing and he stared at the bead of moisture that sat innocently on the tip of his finger. What was it? Curious, and forgetting the audience that lay in his arms, he extended his tongue to taste the moisture. It was salty and warm, and unpleasant.

"You're crying."

Grimmjow's quiet explanation made him freeze, his hand in front of his face as he stared at it. The things running unbidden down his face were tears? Why was he crying? Crying was for humans. He buried the finger that had touched the tear in the sand, trying desperately to get rid of the feeling of the moisture clinging to it.

"I don't understand."

He was repeating himself and he could feel his composure slowly beginning to crumble, defying all his efforts to pull it back together before blue eyes noticed. But the blue eyes were observant – they always had been, an ability hidden behind the mask of chaos and emotion Grimmjow wore. A slightly clawed hand reached up shakily, finally resting against his tearstained cheek, and a gentle thumb wiped the moisture away.

"It's what happens when you care."

Ulquiorra had never thought that Grimmjow could be so gentle, and yet there was nothing but quiet patience in his tone, as though he knew that Ulquiorra was at a loss and needed time to understand what was happening to him. A flood was welling up inside him – a metaphorical one in his chest that threatened to explode out of him, and a literal one building in his eyes. No amount of frantic mental damming could stop them and they released simultaneously. A sob tore itself from his startled throat as rivers rushed down his cheeks. His body hunched over, his face burying itself in Grimmjow's shoulder. The loss of control scared him – he had always been able to make his body do what he wanted, and only what he wanted, and yet now it was doing things he had no conscious control over, nor could he stop.

The hand that had been on his cheek moved round to the back of his head, palm resting on his mask remnants while fingers twitched in his hair. Grimmjow's other arm tried to move, but was unable to due to being pinned between their two bodies.

"It's okay to feel."

Grimmjow was half dead and yet he was the one consoling the confused and terrified cuatra Espada. The irony was not lost on Ulquiorra, and yet he could do nothing about it as his shoulders heaved involuntarily and his whole body shook. He wasn't used to feeling – his entire aspect was about not feeling – and the sudden flood of emotions that had overwhelmed him had sent him into shock. Grimmjow was saying more things, but Ulquiorra couldn't hear them. His ears were filled with the sound of his own pathetic sobs and his body still ignored all his instructions to stop crying and get up.

"How do I stop it?"

He cut one of Grimmjow's nothings off when he spoke, voice thick and lips cumbersome. The quiet answer Grimmjow gave after a pause was unwelcome, but not unexpected.

"You can't."

He became aware that his eyes had dried up to the point of stinging. His lips were heavy and wouldn't stop quivering and his throat was sore from the sobs that still insisted on erupting from his mouth. It was pathetic – he was pathetic – and a part of him strongly rebelled against the idea that the sexta had been there to see him lose all traces of composure. The other part was glad that it was Grimmjow that was there to support him through this terrifying experience. It didn't take him long to recognise that part of him as being the part that had insisted that he was feeling love, a possibility that even now, during the most embarrassing breakdown of his entire life as a Hollow – his only breakdown – he rejected forcefully. He was a Hollow. Hollows could not love.

The hand on the back of his head slid lower, instead resting on his back and beginning to rub slow circles there. It was something Ulquiorra had seen humans do and had scoffed at – how could such contact be remotely comforting, he had wondered scornfully. Being on the receiving end himself, he was forced to re-evaluate that opinion as he felt tension he hadn't even noticed was there begin to melt away, leaving him as a limp wreck clutching Grimmjow as if his existence depended on it. The dry sobs wouldn't stop and he could feel the tightness of his face, particularly his cheeks. He buried his head further into Grimmjow's shoulder, trying to rub away the uncomfortable feeling.

"Feel better?"

Grimmjow's sudden words made him realise that he wasn't shaking quite so much anymore and that his cramped face was slowly loosening. Unbidden, his head moved against the sexta's shoulders in the approximation of a nod and the soothing hand stopped moving, instead pulling Ulquiorra closer to his injured body.

"You shouldn't bottle everything up like that."

Ulquiorra tried to lift his head to look at Grimmjow, but the hand pinning him to the sexta's body restrained him, along with his own body's unwillingness to obey. It appeared that he was still lacking control.

"If you bottle it up too much you'll explode."

Yes, it certainly had felt like an explosion, what with the sudden surge of tears and feelings that had rushed out of him all at once. He felt exhausted, slowly realising that his body wasn't obeying his commands because it was too weak to do so. He had never realised how draining that rapid release of emotions could be. It was something he would be sure to avoid in future. He took some comfort in the fact that his thought process was returning to its usual analytical state.

"Don't lose yourself."

Enough of his strength had returned that he could force his body to sit up, ignoring the resistance of Grimmjow's hand, as he met the sexta's eyes for the first time since the ordeal had begun. The amount of raw emotion he could see in there threatened to overwhelm him again but he crushed it, reminding himself that it was Grimmjow feeling those emotions, not him. He didn't understand how Grimmjow could have so many emotions and not explode. There was care in those blue eyes, along with worry and some relief. Something in the back of his mind pointed out a protectiveness he'd never thought he'd ever see aimed at him and the part of his mind he liked to ignore whispered that there was love in there, too. That was impossible. Hollows didn't love. Hollows couldn't love.

"How can you stand it?"

It was only when Grimmjow's eyes widened slightly that he realised he'd said it out loud. The sexta's response was confused, as if he didn't understand what was so impossible.

"Stand what?"

"So much emotion."

Ulquiorra had to know. How could his subordinate – his inferior – be strong enough to deal with something that had ripped his own mask to shreds? Understanding dawned in Grimmjow's eyes and he laughed, ever so slightly. Ulquiorra expected a long explanation – something reminding him that his aspect was destruction so of course he could handle things that would shatter someone else. Or maybe a reminder that his own aspect was emptiness, meaning that he wasn't supposed to feel so much. Thus, when Grimmjow only said one word, it threw him. It was a word that made so much sense, and yet brought up so many more questions.

"Experience."

Of course it was down to experience. Experience was what made a person – it taught them all of the flaws of the world that surrounded them and how to cope with them. But how did Grimmjow have so much, and how had gaining the experience not destroyed him as it threatened to destroy Ulquiorra.

"I expected a reminder of your aspect."

It slipped out, like so many other things had, reminding him that he was not yet in full control. His inward scolding almost made him miss Grimmjow's confession.

"It helps."

He expected that to be the end of the conversation. Despite being the weaker of the two, part of his own powers meant that Grimmjow had the advantage over Ulquiorra in this respect. He accepted that. After all, the two of them had always been complete opposites – one was a rebel and bright in every aspect; the other was loyal and blended in with the monochrome of the shadows.

"Do you know why?"

Ulquiorra had not expected the conversation to continue. He didn't respond, pleased that he was gaining enough control over himself not to shake his head like a mindless idiot. His silence would be enough of an answer for Grimmjow to understand that he didn't know. Grimmjow had always been able to read him better than most – a fact that both frustrated and pleased him, although why he didn't know.

Grimmjow beckoned for him to come closer. Ulquiorra obliged, leaning in so as to better hear him, feeling as if a great secret was about to be shared. It was a human notion that he quickly discarded.

"Because love is the most destructive of all."

Grimmjow accompanied his barely-whispered words with a feather-light press of his lips against Ulquiorra's, once again successfully freezing the cuatra. The kiss was brief, but Ulquiorra barely noticed when Grimmjow pulled back, his mind once again having been thrown into turmoil. It was impossible. There was no way Grimmjow was suggesting… Hollows didn't love. Hollows couldn't love. Could they?

Part of his brain reminded him that it thought otherwise, and he finally listened.

**I'm hoping I managed to keep them both in character (okay, so Ulquiorra's breakdown was probably not so in character, but I hope that at least his reaction to his breakdown was). Am I the only person that thought Ulquiorra looked almost caring when he stopped Grimmjow releasing in his fight against Ichigo, or that Grimmjow looked like he really didn't want to have to seal Ulquiorra away when they had their mini-fight over Ichigo being healed by Orihime?**

**Feel free to think that this goes back to following canon after the end of this little conversation, with Ulquiorra going off to fight Ichigo and die and Grimmjow… well, it's not completely confirmed what he's up to now, although I know a lot of us (who read the manga – I don't know how far the anime's got) have our suspicions…**

**Don't really have much more to say, except that it's my first Bleach fanfic and I hope it wasn't too awful.**

**Thanks for reading!  
Tsari**


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